//------------------------------// // He Extracts Information (AB 991) // Story: In an Effort to Stay Evil // by Empirical Deduction //------------------------------// The minotaur stood in the center of the room. Of course, "stood" was a slightly generous term, as most of his weight was supported by pair of chains connected to thick shackles about his wrists. He could relieve the weight on his wrists by stretching himself upward while standing as high on his hooves as he could, but otherwise he hung there. He was a large bull, well-muscled and well-built, decidedly top-heavy. His fur was natively a shaggy grey, but recent events had left it scored with bits of ash and dust and detritus. It carried streaks of white and gray, and the occasional blotch of vital pink. He was not a happy bull, and he wore his discomfort in a glare. He had been captured several miles further north when he and his compatriots had been set upon by the guard of Ironforge. The others escaped; he did not. He knew their mission was not yet in jeopardy; that was some solace at least. They would still have the last laugh against this dark lord. As if summoned by his thoughts themselves, the door to the room swung open and Forgath entered. His cloak billowed out behind him, framing the rest of his figure in the deep royal violet of its underside. With each step, a clink of metal upon stone. His eyes glowed red behind his visor, but the Minotaur met his gaze. He did not flinch; he must be strong. The two stared each other down, the Dark Lord with crossed arms, the Minotaur with arms bound upward. Forgath was the first to break the glare, turning and striding over to a wooden table set up against the wall of the room. He examined several implements set upon it - the straight iron poker with a cruel hook, a lash with three weighted tips, a plunger of standard issue, and more. The lord made a show of examining each item in turn, turning them about in gauntleted hands. Apparently satisfied, he strode back over to stand before the captive. "What is your name?" The questions began simply; they always did. "Stark Contrast, and that's all you will get from me, monster." The bull's eyes narrowed. "But you have told me so much already. I know you were sent by the forces of Crete. I know you are here to scout. And I know the others are still out there. You will reveal to me their location." "I will do no such thing." "You will, if you do not want to know the depths of my fury." "Put it in a jug and spit in it, and it will then be worth the spit." Forgath narrowed his eyes behind his helmet and moved a step closer, lifting a hand that begins to shimmer with whips of dark fire. "You know, I think I shall start with the horns; I could use a new goblet." "Try it; you'll choke on anything you drink from them." "Yes, you are a brave one. We'll see if that last as I hollow them out while they're still attached. The smell will be awful, and that's truly saying something." The bull's eyes widened just enough for Forgath to notice, but he steeled his gaze soon after. "Any torture you do upon me just proves our cause just." "Oh, spare me. You're a scouting force from a nation hoping to lay claim to the lands of another under a pretense of 'liberation'. If your higher-ups convinced you of justice you're both gullible and bullheaded." Forgath cocked his head for a second in consideration. "Well, more than is apparent." "Your monstrous deeds speak for themselves." He lifted his hand, the flames around it burning brighter. "And yet you'll be the one talking." Just as he was moving it forwards towards a horn that jerked away from the oncoming heat, a loud rap on the door sounded. Forgath paused, speaking without looking away from the bull. "Enter." The door opened and the face of one of his guards, an orange crystal pony, poked inward. "Lord Forgath, you are needed in the magical wing; something has gone wrong." Forgath continued to watch the bull lean his head away from the burning hand, but he still replied. "Is it urgent?" "Yes, Lord; one of the other captives has...responded poorly to treatment." The flames dancing along his gauntlet died off, and he turned, striding towards the door. "Very well. I suppose we will have to see to that first. He paused at the door, turning to glance over his shoulder at Stark Contrast. "Once I've dealt with your compatriot, I will deal with you. Guards, with me." With that, the door slammed shut. Or tried, at least. Something about it must have been set improperly - bar, latch, or otherwise - for rather than closing it bounced off its frame, giving Stark Contrast a view of a sliver of hallway beyond. The bull waited as the hoofsteps retreated down the hallway, waited until he couldn't hear them any longer, then began viciously pulling at his chains. He grunted, he strained, the tempting hint of freedom before him spurred him on...and yet no amount of flexing would pop a manacle, no degree of tugging would shear the chain. All his effort merely set him lightly swinging by his wrists. He closed his eyes and bellowed his fury, before sagging into panting, letting himself recover. As his breath slowed and his eyes opened, he realized he was not alone. There was a little face in the doorway, poked into the room through the open sliver. It was a calf - a foal, he corrected himself - who couldn't be much more than a yearling. It drew back a little when it noticed him looking, but when he didn't do anything it began to creep closer. One little blue hoof entering the room, then another. It was a tiny little bat pony, one with a blue-green mane hanging half in her face. She crept closer, looking nervous and ready to bolt, while the bull gave her a quizzical look in turn. "Hello?" The foal asked, still several lengths away from him and well out of reach. Not that he had much reach to speak of other than "up" at the moment. "Hello, little one. What are you doing here?" She fidgeted a little, wings fanning nervously as she spoke, the sound lightly muffled by her shoulder. "...I got lost..." "Lost?" She moved her head from her shoulder to look up at him. "What's your name?" He blinked, but saw no harm in answering. "I am Auroch Stark Contrast. And who might you be?" "...'m Shady." He smiled gently. No need to terrify a foal with his mighty presence. "It's nice to meet you, Shady." "Why're you hanging there?" Stark had to resist the urge to snort. "I was captured by Lord Ironblood." The filly gasped. "Why'd he capture you?" "Because he is an evil tyrant, ever working to maintain his grip on your people." "He is?" She looked up with wide eyes. "He is." The bull nodded, as certain as any could be. "Oh. And you were gonna stop him from bein' an eye-rent?" "Tyrant, and yes, we will stop him." "We?" "My men and I. We came on behalf of Crete - that's the land I come from." "Oooh, what's it like?" "It's a series of islands; warm, without being hot, cooled by the sea breezes, in the Marediteranian. Olives grow in abundance, and red poppies and orchids of many colors - flowers, little one - rise up in the meadows. Even the rocky crags sprout snake lilies and edible cacti. And in the midst of this beauty, we have built cities and docks and labyrinths." "That sounds really nice! It's cold here." He chuckled softly. "Yes, I have noticed. My bulls were unused to it; the mountain passes are far colder than this city." "Your bulls? Do you have an army? Are you a general?" He smiled softly down at her. "No; I am an Auroch. It's not a high rank but not a low one either; I can lead many, or squads of the elite. And this time, it was the latter." "Latter?" "The second; I came with an elite squad. We are taking stock." "Oooh, you're scouting! Ironforge has scouts too!" "That they do." "...Did your friends get caught too? Are they in here with you?" He chuckled at the concern on her face, shaking his head. "No. Ponies under Ironblood's thrall attacked our camp, but my bulls escaped with their gear and supplies." "Then why are you here?" "I was the last one to hold the pass we used as a retreat. I was captured so my bulls could go free." "You're a hero!" She looked up at him with a measure of awe. He stood a little straighter - or much as one could while suspended by their wrists. "That I am." "Lord Ironblood says heroes usually make stupid mistakes and get killed." The bull did snort at that, causing the filly to pull back a little. "That is because he fears heroes." "He's afraid?" "As he should be. My bulls will rally at the backup positions and the mission will continue. We already know much of the land surrounding the city, and our hoplites will soon march. He will be cast down, and we will restore freedom to you and your people." "Really?" She looked up with hopeful eyes. "Yes." He smiled with pride. This was a temporary setback, he reminded himself. Their cause was just, and the ponies would be freed. "B'what if it doesn't?" The bull blinked. "What if what doesn't?" "Th' scouts; what if they don't win? They're waaay up in the mountains; what if they get too cold?" The bull chuckled. "They have warm clothes, blankets, and firewood. They will be fine." "But what if they get hungry?" "They have enough food to last the winter, much in hidden caches. They will be fine." "What 'bout after the winter?" "If their mission is not complete, they will be resupplied from Crete. There is plenty of shoreline along the east." "But they don't have a leader anymore; what if they're dumb?" Another snort, and a billowing laugh. "They're not so weak without me that they can't complete the mission; I trust each of them with my life, and my second - a bull named Shield Wall - will guide them to victory." The filly nodded. "What about you? Are they gonna rescue you?" He shook his head sadly. "No. I am here until I am spent or until the city is free; my bulls will not risk the mission to come for me." "Then how're you gonna get out?" The bull considered it, a frown stretching his face as he was brought back to the present. His wrists ached. He cast his gaze around the room for a moment, before settling his eyes on the filly. "Mmmm...I will think of something. Perhaps with the help of pony friends." The filly perked up, her wings fluttering. "Ooh! Ooh! Can I help!?" The bull glanced up at the doorway for another moment, before leaning his head down as far as his neck would reach (which wasn't all that far, as he didn't have much in the way of neck). "Would you like to?" "Yes! Yes!" "You serve in the tower?" "Daddy lives here!" "Good. There is something you could do for me." "What is it?" She was practically bouncing on her hooves by now. "Listen carefully. Go to the eatery known as the Prickle Berry; look for a mare wearing a green shirt. Go up to her and say 'What do you think of the weather?' If she's the right one, she will say 'It's warm enough.' Then, you say to her 'I wouldn't mind more heat'. She'll take you somewhere you can talk safely with her; tell her what you know, and she'll help. "Okay! 'What d'you think of the weather?' and 'I wouldn't mind more heat'! Got it!" "Now go; hurry, and don't get caught." "Okay! Byebye, Mr. Contest." He opened his mouth to correct her, but she was already bolting from the room. She pushed the door shut behind her, where it closed with a soft click. The bull chuckled to himself, and a grin broke over his features. Perhaps all was not yet lost. The filly bolted down the hallway, little hooves tap-tap-tapping away, until she rounded a corner and skidded right into the armored leg of Forgath Ironblood himself. Her gaze slowly rose up along his form, up and up, until she was looking right at his eyes with her ears folded back. He stared down at the adorable foal for a moment, waiting until she'd scooted herself back off of his boot, before reaching down to lay hands upon the filly. Scooping her up with both hands, he lifted her high above his head - promptly getting a squeal of joy from Shady. He gave her a little bounce in the air as chuckles bubbled up from within his helmet, her little batty wings fluttering and flapping as he 'flew' her this way and that in the air. "Who's my cute little good cop? Who's my adorable little good cop?" She giggled and wiggled in his grip, her legs flailing at the air as his fingers tickles at her sides. "I am! I am!" In a gentle motion he flipped her over and swept her into the crook of an arm, cradling her there and poking her belly with an armored fingertip. "That's right! You are! And you did such a good job; I'm very proud of you!" "Really!?" "Yes." "Yay! Can we get ice cream?" "Of course." "YAY!" "After you eat your dinner." "Awww..."